Silence
by Atalzan
Summary: You think he's bitter. There is a reason behind everything. Every vine is harmful in its own way.
1. Default Chapter

_There, his black robes rippling in a cold breeze, stood Severus Snape, and at this moment, he was smiling in a way that told Harry he and Ron were in very deep trouble._

**from**** 'Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets', The Whomping Willow, by J.K. Rowling**

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_"Then so be it."_

The man on the four-poster bed began to stir in his sleep. Eyes closed, but his arms were jerking and his fingers tapping on the mattress in little electric-like shocks. His lips parted only to emit faint, unintelligible moans audible enough to be heard from a small distance. 

In the dim, pale yellow hue of dawn lit across the room in strained rays through the curtains, everything sat still. Everything except for the lazy sway of the greying curtains, and the single occupant of the bed who was now twitching lightly in what seemed to be a perturbed slumber. 

"Severus?". A transluscent head stuck itself out of the wall of the room, not at all needing the convenience of an opened door. The ghost's eyes fixed upon the man laying on the bed, unblinking as if waiting for him to answer his call. But none came, save for a resounding 'No' that could hardly be detected, and the man's left leg made a sudden, sharp jolt. The ghostly figure withdrew the rest of his body from the solid stone and drifted across the room towards the man. 

"No ... don't ... " 

"Severus," he called again.

"You ... "

The ghoul's see-through bloodied chest heaved a sigh, floating next to the bed and shook his head. The Bloody Baron inhaled deeply, making his chest inflated with good amount of air, and bellowed :

"SEVERUS SNAPE!!" 

The man woke with a hard gasp, his black eyes wide open and his body had stopped moving altogether. The dark pupils of his eyes stared frozen at the ceiling before slowly directing themselves towards the source of the alarming scream. Slowly, Severus lifted his hand up and moved a greasy lock of black hair away from his visage to take a good look on the Slytherin ghost.

"Finally. About bloody time, too," the Bloody Baron's voice returned to its haunting tone of an echo. He floated across the mattress and scanned Severus, who was beginning to push himself up against the headboard. "I guess a good morning is in order?"

Severus averted his gaze and brought his head down, staring blankly at his lap. His hair curtaining his face as he did so, hiding the frown and the tired pair of eyes. He brought a hand to the back of his neck and rubbed the ache in the arch there. 

His sleeps had always been intruded by those plaguing dreams, causing him to wake in the company of a strained muscle or two. The dreams were so real, every second of it was just like a replay of his past, because he was sure that he had seen the places that his mind had set him at while he was dozing away. And he had known the face that was haunting his dreams every so often ... the same face every time ...

"It's Lucius Malfoy again, isn't it?" asked the Baron again while surveying a row of jars on a rack filled with frogs, a dragon's scale and some other creatures' anatomies, drowned in either acid green or bright yellow liquid. Severus abruptly looked up at the ghoul who had turned his attention from the potions ingredients to him, and simpered knowingly at the sight of the man's dumbstruck look.

"S-stop ... jumping into false conclusions." Severus threw aside the covers and climbed down from the bed, hastily wrapping his nightrobes over his frame. He hated this, hated every minute of the dreams and every minute of their aftermath. He loathed at his own loss of composure everytime that name was mentioned in his wake. It had been ages, almost two decades in fact, but the pain of the memory simply refused to budge from the recesses of his mind and he was bound to this.

_I am bound to the life that you left behind_.

"Well, there is certainly no wrong in assuming," said the Bloody Baron, his voice sounding like a lazy hum. "Unless, well, I am wrong to assume that you've failed to have a good night's sleep," he drifted through the wooden desk and glanced at his blood-stained pocket watch.

"My succession of sleeping is not any concern of yours." Severus countered in a snarl, walking over to a corner of his room to check on the cauldron of wolfsbane's mixture that he had left to simmer overnight. He tried to build a calm exterior in the presence of the Slytherin ghost, his stern face seemingly too stern for his normality that the Baron knew he had already treaded a little too far. The Hogwart's Potions teacher would never treat those who belonged to the Slytherin house even in the slightest ill manner, unless provoked.

"Perhaps not that, but if I were you, I'd stop sticking my nose into that potful of stink and head straight down to the Great Hall this instance," the ghost said, weightlessly afloat and making his way to the door.

"And why, praytell, must I?" he ladelled some of the steaming content and brought it closer to his face, closely checking the steaming concoction.

"Because breakfast has commenced about half an hour ago," the Bloody Baron answered, nearing the door. "We wouldn't want gossips concerning the missing Professor Snape at the table rounding all over school now, would we?" and he disappeared through the sturdy door, literally. 

Severus dropped the ladle back into the cauldron and hissed in frustration. His hand which was resting on the desk balled into a tight fist, the nails digging into his palm forcing the pain on him as a silent punishment of his own carelessness. After a few lingering seconds, he made a move to fetch his black robes, all the while fighting to erase the remnants of last night's intrusion in his sleep. 

The same face, same course of events, dating way back to his early days in Hogwarts as a student, the same person who had walked into his life then out on him, leaving him in endless tormenting. Abandoning him in this newfound life that he had struggled to achieve, to gain the trust from so many people here after he had made the ultimate decision to turn on a new leaf. How long had it been since? Ten years? Fifteen? 

To leave that blackened grove which had presented him with a permanent farewell gift embedded on his arm took him nearly more than forever, and almost every surge of his self-will spent on the days when he had to believe that his bid with the Dark Lord was over. Had it not been for Dumbledore's kind consideration to accept him in this place where none of his likes would dwell, he would have easily ended as another corpse of a Death Eater at some godforsaken place.

He paused halfway through the process of slipping his arm into the sleeve. A single streak of sunlight bore down onto his face, and the warmth of daylight dawned on him. It is daylight. And daylight meant another day of teaching, Potions classes with students. Foolish young blubbers who could not even hold the wand properly, more broken cauldrons, foul congealing of potions rendered horribly by wizarding standards; another hectic schedule that would deliver another blow into his skull by the incompetent and sluggish minds of amateur wizards ... Neville Longbottom and the likes.

_But is it truly Longbottom that bothers you?_

Severus had taken for granted for what was over, was done with, and never to surface again. He was left bewildered and hurt by the one person who once had sung lullabies of promises into his simpleton head, left him with nothing but a shattered heart and pride swallowed by force. He had to accept the simple fact that he was nil by comparison to, perhaps, the man from one of the most noble wizarding family in history. He had to admit defeat.

Somehow, everyone in Hogwarts back then knew that he was the only person who had been seen in public with Severus. Summing up the idea that he was the only friend that he had, no other person was linked to him. Everyone knew that he was the only person that Severus would and could trust.

_And because of that trust, you're left a hollow piece of nothingness_.

Yet, after some silent years, that man, that wizard, had purposedly cause old scars to bleed again. 

_Purposedly__, Severus?___

_He has a son, Severus. And by all means, he has every right there is to enroll Draco at Hogwarts. _

_There's just too much that time cannot erase._

Lifting the sleeve of his robes to reveal the bruising shape that resembled a skull on his arm. The infamous Dark Mark, which a few times in the past, had glowed in emerald and caused the skin on his forearm sting, now only a dark graze on his skin like an unshapely tattoo. He stared at it with an ageing pain silhouetted on his sallow face. The threads of his thought were thickly interwoven, Severus swallowed hard and brought the sleeve down to cover it, smoothing down the front of his robes and headed for the door.

~~*~~

**A day in the life of Severus, 1971**

A sea of green and silver files out of the dungeon in another cold, wintery morning of Hogwarts. The large group of Slytherins descends along the Entrance Hall towards the Great Hall, where the rest of the school are gathering for another morning ritual of breakfast and mail-receiving from the delivery owls. Amidst the crowd of students, a first-year Severus is trottering along with a chattering group of boys who are oblivious of his presence. He cranes his neck as they all begin to fill in the large hall, gazing up at the enchanted ceiling that has been made to complement the Christmas season - magical snowflakes falling from a bedazzling dark-blue sky. 

The eleven year-old skinny boy seems not too impressed with the celebration mood, keeps the frown on his face fixed while moving along with the mass. The tattered sling bag on his shoulder sags at each step he makes, and he is given the trouble to hold the fastened lace in its place. The sliding sack makes it difficult for him to walk in a steady pace, he is twitching like an overgrown spider trying to scuttle from harm's way. From afar, his posture portrays everything but self-confidence. 

Albeit all that, he is seen as the central of attention by some.

"Oi, Snape!"

With lightning reflexes, Severus swivels around at the call of his surname, gripping his bag firmly to prevent it from choking him around the neck. His eyes searching wildly for the source of the voice.

"_Impedimenta!_"

Only in a split second, a blinding light socks him hard in the middle forcing him to slide viciously across the floor, knocking people aside until he crashes badly against a wooden table leg, where a jug of pumpkin juice shakes at the impact and tumbles down on his head, spilling the content all over the unfortunate being.

This stunt has managed to extract a roar of laughter and a hearty round of applause from, as Severus warily sweeps away strands of damp hair from his face, the Gryffindor table. All around him the crowd freezes, though some are not too bothered with this mishap and move on to search for their seats. Severus dares himself to glance around and catches a glimpse of his house's uniform of robes, unsure whether he will be able to seek sanctuary from his own comrades or suffer the consequences of this misfortune.

"Still in perfect function," says a voice just a foot away from him. Severus' gaze shoots forth. The unkempt jet-black hair, the dark-rimmed spectacles.

James Potter.

"Too right it is, mate," chimes another. Sirius Black marches up to James' side and joins to sample the success of their marauding. Both send him a set of malicious grins that simply causes Severus' sallow face to turn a brilliant shade of crimson. "All right, Snape? Surely you wouldn't mind a little bit of experiment?"

Potter raises the tip of his wand to his mouth and blows on it, akin to a cowboy blowing off the smoke from the barrell of his gun. Severus' hand protrudes to reach for support from the table top and slowly tries to bring himself up to full height. His feet almost give in, slipping a few times in the thick, sticky spill of pumpkin juice on the floor and finally he manages to stand up, in quite an unflattering manner. He keeps his black eyes staring at the pair in a strong fixation, his expression apparent of pure loathing and resentment. 

Severus, quite adamantly, is unpopular. No one holds out a helping hand, much less stands up for him. Often left in sole defence when being attacked by those duo of trouble-makers, he promptly digs into his pockets for his wand while his eyes hardly move their gaze elsewhere but to his mutual enemies.

"Just - you - wait ..."

Severus halts mid-way in his rummaging. He removes his hand from the pocket to see it smeared from the tips of his fingers to his wrist in thick black ink. The skinny jaw would have easily dropped to the floor if it is not for the skeletal attachment to his skull. The blood in his face drains to return the skin to its yellowish complexion, only paler. Horror-struck, he holds his bag up, and it looks like an ink bottle in it has smashed during the collision, the dark liquid flowing freely inside-out, soaking everything that the bag carries and almost the entire side of his robes.

Including his Defence Against the Dark Arts homework.

"No ... NO!" Severus can do nothing but flip his three-foot long parchment back to front, almost half of it is well-marinated in ink. Whatever he has written on it is swallowed in blackness. His lips quiver, just as the parchment shakes in the clutch of his hand. "No, no no no no ... "

"He's crying over a ruddy homework!" Black's mocking horror rings across the Hall, followed closely by echoes of laughter. 

"Look at him _snivelling_," says Potter, arms folded across his chest as he stares down his nose at the messy pile of Severus. "Reckon it- ... eh, dings nicely with his name, you think? Snivelling Severus Snape."

"_Snivellus__ Snape!_"Black's tone of voice leaps triumphantly, receiving agreeable looks all around and soon enough, everyone begins to echo Severus' newly-dubbed nickname.

It takes him quite sometime to regain his senses before throwing his wasted effort of a homework to the side and draws out his wand, holding it at his arm's level, its tip glowing and spitting scarlet sparks. 

His lips has barely moved before Black launches yet another attack on him.

"_Tarantallegra__!_" Dazzling flash of silver springs out of Black's wand and the next second, Severus' legs begin to jerk around out of his own control in a kind of vigorous tap-dancing.

Again, the entertained crowd cheers. Severus clings onto his wand tightly but seems all too hopeless with his dampened pride. His feet quickdancing in the pool of juice send splutters of the liquid into all directions, and his fellow Slytherins merely retreat. Black and Potter are clutching their stomachs, hollering with laughter alongwith others who take great entertainment in the scene. If only he can just Disapparate away, far, far away from here and not to be seen ... if only he can just vanish from their sight ...

"_Finite Incantatem!_" 

Severus' waltzing feet come to a sudden halt at the loud utter of the counter-spell. He wobbles over and falls again on his rump in the most disgraceful way. A glimpse of a pair of polished black shoes catches his eyes, next to his hand on the floor. He brings his gaze up to look at whom those belong to.

A tall Slytherin, with a prominent chin and distinctive sleek blond hair, standing with an air of unshakeable dignity as his wand drawn out towards the two Marauders. Severus gawks at the boy, trying to make out the precise pattern of his face from his eye-view.

But the boy barely moves an inch. Opposite him, Black and Potter already have their wands out in a combative position, any one of them is ready to strike in a matter of seconds ...

"Snivelly has a _boyfriend_. Oh, the horror ... " mocks Potter, receiving an agreeable smirk from Black. Both are attentive of this blond intruder. Severus' gaze darts from the Gryffindor pair to the mysterious Slytherin, who is seemingly taking Severus' side.

"Hark who's talking," his voice is smooth and holds a certain tinge of coldness that makes the hairs on the back of Severus' neck stand. "We'll see who's the _real_ damsel in distress. _Cru-_" 

"_Expelliarmus__!_" A booming voice rings across the hall not far away from the commotion, a voice that belongs to neither of them. Three drawn wands immediately fly out of their owners' hands, landing with faint clunks a few feet away from the scene. One by one, the crowd starts to disperse, as Professor Dumbledore steps into the picture with his own wand raised.

"That will do, young Messrs," says Dumbledore in his usual calm tone. Severus scrambles to his feet and finds himself standing closely next to this unknown saviour of his, this blond one.

Dumbledore glances swiftly at Severus, who is now exchanging death glares with his tormentors. "The morning should start with a healthy meal, not a _deduction of House points_."

With that final warning, Dumbledore glides away from them and resumes to his seat at the staff table. Potter sneers at the dishevelled Severus from over his shoulder and mouths '_Snivellus_', accompanied by an annoying grimace from Black. He keeps his glare affixed upon them, refusing to budge from his spot until they are both out of sight. The blond boy, who has moved away to retrieve his wand, returns to Severus' side. He looks up to meet a pair of grey eyes boring down on him, apparently taller than him by a few inches.

"I didn't know that was the counter-spell ... " Severus begins timidly, ashamed by his own ignorance.

"It's in the _Practical Defensive Magic_," the tall blond replies, his voice void of warmth but respectful nonetheless. Severus notices the immaculate sense of dressing the boy has, and the way his moon-blond tresses are neatly sleeked in a shoulder-length elegance that Severus' will never achieve. He pockets his wand and as both young wizards move to their table. Severus, for the first time in his beginner's year at Hogwarts, is not alone.

Lucius Malfoy has hardly left him alone eversince.


	2. Chapter 2

_He was sure he had just broken into Snape's memories, that he had just seen scenes from Snape's childhood. It was unnerving to think that the little boy who had been crying as he watched his parents shouting was standing in front of him with such loathing in his eyes._

**from**** 'Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix', Seen and Unforeseen, by J.K. Rowling**

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While flipping through the stack of paperwork, Severus moved his fingers across the centre of his forehead, softly massaging the skin, bidding the ache to leave. He scrawled the day's report on a piece of parchment spread before him on the desk - Longbottom had successfully melted his twelfth cauldron today this semester, Potter's absymal absent-mindedness had costed him ten marks, for confusing between a mimbulus' root and a salamander's leg and caused his Babbling Beverage to evaporate, the Granger girl, well, merited her ten full points as usual.

Moving the tip of his quill further down, he jotted down the deserving scores into the space located next to each of his students' names. The quill's sharp end halted at the line of a name.

Malfoy, Draco.

The corners of his lips gravitated, turning into a deep frown that did not speak of concentration. Severus gripped his quill tighter and closed his eyes. That name could have bore a worse curse to him than of Voldemort's, always sending chill down his spine, giving his innards an unpleasurable squirm.

He dropped the quill onto the desk and his body craned backwards to lean against the headrest of his chair, inhaling deeply. He loved the air in his room - pregnant with the smells of innumerable types of potions and ingredients fermenting in jars of preservers. It gave him comfort where he could find in no other place.

_Because your only confidant is gone._

Severus released the air in his chest and opened his eyes to stare blankly at the space between him and the ceiling above. He could hear his conscience laughing somewhere in the furthest recesses of his mind, something about still being able to lounge in a big, plushy chair and sip Firewhisky every evening after an enjoyable day at work of hunting traitors of the Dark Lord and killing wizards, that is, if he had not pulled back from his former post of a Death Eater.

_But would you remain in the same position in the heart of the man who had lured you into the clan?_

_Would Lucius still love you, and choose you instead of Narcissa?_

Perhaps it is right, this conscience. If he had not called his job off some eighteen or nineteen years ago, he would not have to sit in this cramped room, spending each day beating potion-making senses into slow minds which had only reduced to further imbecility every other semester.

And to rub salt to the wound, a handful of despicables in his class obviously had a sense of decorum far more deficient than most, and it consisted of no other but the students of his own house. Apparently too big-headed to admit that their skills of concocting potions are just ... disappointing.

Like Draco Malfoy for instance.

"Professor Snape!"

Severus snapped out of his stupor and bolted up in his chair, seeing a flustered Draco standing in the doorway of his office. He was breathing hard, beads of sweat trickling down his face, his expression looked like he could break down and cry any minute.

"Anything the matter, Draco?" Snape asked softly, scanning the boy's figure for any trace of injury or funny limbs sprouting from his body. His immediate guess was another duel occured between Malfoy and Harry Potter.

Draco stepped closer to Severus' desk, taking gulps of air and leaning his hands against the furniture for support. His shoulders rising and falling rhythmically with his bated breath. Snape got up from his seat and rounded his table towards the fifth-year Slytherin.

"Draco?"

"It's Father, Professor," Draco had finally looked up, and was turning to face his Potions master fully. He grabbed the sides of Severus' robes. Severus could feel the wave of panic coursing through him now. 

"Wh- "

"Father ... the Ministry ... they're sending him off to Azkaban,"

~~*~~

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**A day in the life of Severus, 1974**

It is a merry Christmas eve indeed down at the Great Hall, where tinkering of goblets and cheerful chattering and laughter soar all over the great interiors of Hogwarts. Along the Entrance Hall, the ceiling is decorated with colourful mistletoes and a huge Christmas tree erected in the centre of the Hall, a large and colourful Christmas banner hung in mid-air over their heads.

But one boy refuses to blend his spirits with the celebration. He shuns himself away from the gathering, seeking solace under the trapdoor of the Divination classroom. His head leans against the brick wall, legs pulled up to chest-height, a thin streak of light from the torches outside pours through a broken partition on the wall, illuminating his gaunt face on one side. His oily hair is shining sleekly in the darkness, a few strands masking his eyes. The dusty, confined space of the underground tunnel seems perfect enough for easing the troubled thoughts of an adolescent.

A greatly disturbed adolescent. 

He inhales a deep intake of breath and heaves a sigh, particles of dust swirling frantically in the air by the strong gust in front of his face. His right hand has its fingers loosely closing around a crumpled parchment. Outside, divided by the North Tower, the continuous tune of merry-making is audible. A single tear trickles down his cheek, pursued by a small sniffle made by his nose. He makes no attempt to wipe it away, letting it roll down to his chin and fall onto the front of his robes.

A muffled roar of laughter rises from the shallow voices of hundreds of students and staff. The sudden burst of cheers in the Hall causes the parchment in Severus' hand to re-crumple within the tightening of his bony fingers. He inches himself closer against the wall, trying to separate himself from the holiday mood as far as his thin body can manage. 

"There you are!"

A voice breaks the pin-drop silence of the hole. Severus' gaze shoots up as his head turns sideways to see Lucius, bending slightly due to the low ceiling (or his growing height) and making his way towards him. His face wears a gleeful grin which smears wider across his pale face as he approaches closer. Severus is at lost on whether he should strike an Imperiatus curse on his friend and order him out of the tunnel, or simply conceal his tear-streaked face with a smile.

The latter seems sufficient.

"I've been looking all over the school for you," Lucius continues, settling down next to him and carefully folding his legs. Severus, who has been guarding his face with one arm to hastily wipe his eyes, puts on the heartiest smile he can possibly fake and directs his gaze to Lucius. "Why weren't you at dinner? McNair put a Cruciatus on Potter's head, swelled even bigger than McGonagall's ass!"

Severus snorts appreciatively, silently registering it to his mind that that might have been the cause to the sudden racket in the Hall awhile earlier. 

"I vouch it wouldn't make any difference on the idiot's head, as fat as it already is," Severus replies dully. He tucks the parchment between his legs and covers it with his arm. When his eyes make to counter Lucius', the grey depths are already staring closely into his face, narrowed in concentration. Severus notices the wrinkle between Lucius' eyebrows. "What?"

"Have you been crying?" Lucius enquires curiously, attempting to peer into the other's face but Severus simply shrugs it off with a shaky chuckle. His dark orbs avoiding Lucius' instantly while inside, he silently curses himself for his own _humanity._For having the ability to cry and let others be aware of it.

"D- ... don't be ridiculous. You know I've  - uh - been staying up late doing homework and deprived of s- " He is cut in mid-sentence when Lucius grips Severus' chin and forces his gaze against his. They are locked in a strong, steady fixation of staring into each other's eyes; Lucius' steely ones delve accusingly into Severus' cold, black depths , which mirror the unspoken pain he has been trying to restrain from everyone's knowledge. Lucius', especially.

He slaps Lucius' hand away from his face, again tearing his eyes away from staring any longer into the grey pair, reclining himself even closer against the wall.

"Sorry," says the young Malfoy, while warily draping an arm around Severus' shoulders, who is now gluing his eyes on the wall. He feels Lucius' hand descending on his shoulder and swallows a painful knot in his throat. Lucius' voice has toned down gently. "If you could just ... tell me what happened ... you were missing at the table and ... I had thought something bad had happened, and here you are with a puffy face ..."

Severus clenches and unclenches his fists, biting his lip so hard that it would split bleeding if he bites any harder. He reaches down to take the letter, which has been sandwiched between both of his knees, and hands it over to Lucius, who accepts it without further question and immediately smoothes out the wrinkly parchment in his hand. 

          _Dear Severus,_

_          I apologise that ill news have to be brought on such a time, but your mother has been admitted to St. Mungo's Hospital. She was found lying unconscious in the living room and your father is nowhere to be seen. I advise you to come over, this is an emergent situation._

_          Sincerely,_

_          Uncle Romulus_

When Lucius has finally read the entire letter, he turns his head to look at Severus, whose forehead is resting against his knee, hugging his legs in such a miserable fashion that sympathy sweeps over Lucius at that instance. His arm returns to Severus' shoulders and brings his face closer to the side of his head.

"Severus, I'm sor- "

"He's done it," Severus' voice muffles against his thighs, and he silences for a moment to recollect his thoughts and tries to string them into a sentence. His head rises from the grotto of his lap and turns a heart-shattering face towards Lucius. He tries to harden every angle of his body to squeeze the tears back into their ducts, which are threatening to spill.

The moment Severus' lips part again to speak the dam of his eyes broke, and tears spill anew. Choking sobs emit from his open mouth, replacing the words meant to be spoken, so that Lucius can understand the maddening sorrow that has been stalking him like a shadow for his fourteen years of living. He wants to explain the reason why he spends too much time on studying, neglecting his own physical well-being; so he can keep his mind busy, allowing no space at all for the horror of his own background to invade. He dires for Lucius to know that his father is a drunkard and a wife-beater who has sworn by blood oath that he will not rest in peace until Severus and his mother die; their deaths are the price to pay for the cost of his life's burden. He needs Lucius to know that his broken family is the reason to his sorry excuse of a human. Lucius must know that his mother is the only thing he has and cares for in this world.

Lucius' free arm comes up to cover Severus' racking chest, and pulls him closer in a firm, assuring hug. He rocks the skinny, black-haired, sobbing pile in his arms and offers the comfort of his chest for Severus to cry all his pain into. No words are spoken, only the poor boy's deadened sobs can be heard around the little space of the underground.

His uncle fails to mention that they have found his mother lying unconscious in a pool of blood, with the centre of her forehead split open. Her wand broken in half, situated a few feet away from where she laid.

On the first day of Christmas, Severus finds out that the Ministry of Magic has his father arrested and finds him guilty of assaulting his mother with the Imperius curse. He had taken control of her body and forced her to point her own wand to her face. 

_Avada Kedavra_.

On the first day of Christmas, Severus packs his belonging to return home for his mother's funeral. 


End file.
